


The Soul’s Superior instants

by middlemarch



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: Angst, Conversations, Deleted Scenes, F/M, Family, Marriage, References to Chess, References to Dickens, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-14
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Yet another confession in the aftermath...
Relationships: Eliza Foster/Byron Hale, Jedediah "Jed" Foster/Mary Phinney
Comments: 3
Kudos: 5





	The Soul’s Superior instants

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Mansion House Murder](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23384296) by [BroadwayBaggins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroadwayBaggins/pseuds/BroadwayBaggins), [Fericita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fericita/pseuds/Fericita), [MercuryGray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryGray/pseuds/MercuryGray), [middlemarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch), [sagiow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagiow/pseuds/sagiow), [tortoiseshells](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tortoiseshells/pseuds/tortoiseshells). 



“Perhaps if this were _Edwin Drood_ , I might countenance the furrow in your brow, my dearest Molly,” Jed said, taking the opened book from her hands, shutting it and setting it down on the nightstand well within her reach. The golden lamplight pooled on the coverlet in place of the pages. “But it is _Little Dorrit_ , which I am well aware you know virtually by heart as it is your favorite.”

“Is that why you did not mark my place?” she asked tartly. She could not maintain the attitude in the face of his steady, concerned regard and shifted slightly, as if that would make her any more comfortable. As if he would not notice and remark upon it.

“No, though it would be a good enough reason,” he said. “Is it your leg? I know you won’t take any laudanum for it and you finished Mrs. Gibson’s tonic—I could send for linens and a jug of hot water, enough for a compress. Or we might try some massage—”

“Jedediah,” she began, stretching her hand out to touch his, so he would not take even the small offense. “I cannot, tonight—”

“My intentions were only those of your physician, Molly. After everything that’s gone on today, any further intimacies would be well beyond my abilities, however loath I am to admit that,” Jed said.

“I wish we were home,” Mary said. 

“You must believe that if there were any way for me to accomplish that, I should have done so,” Jed answered. “I’ve no wish to be in this benighted place one more second, let alone another night, even though I don’t expect to be troubled by ghostly cries in the halls or any further skullduggery perpetrated by Hale. Or Squivers, God help me.”

“I know. I know we shall be off tomorrow and I’ve only to be patient a little while longer,” Mary said. “That’s not what is troubling me. Neither is the promise of only a single goodnight kiss.”

“Who said anything about a single kiss? Have some faith, Molly,” Jed smiled. “What is it, though?”

“I hardly want to tell you, though I suppose I must,” she said. “I fear you will be disappointed in me—”

“You cannot think there is anything you would tell me that would change how I feel about you, Molly. Your place in my affections is secure as the sun in the sky,” Jed replied, serious as he could be when it was called for. “Should you have been the murderess of that foul beast, I could not love you any less, though I would admit to being shocked. Primarily that you had not organized his immediate and permanent imprisonment without any of this unconscionable mess and inconvenience, though I imagine the dressmakers in Alexandria have profited handsomely by it.”

“Jedediah!”

“There she is, my gently outraged Molly. Out with it,” he said, settling himself more comfortably on the side of the bed, pulling her shawl up from where it had slipped off her shoulder. He let his fingers graze her clavicle and then her cheek, just for a moment.

“It’s about the Hales,” Mary said. “I fear-- no, I know I have been unkind.”

“Well, neither of them have any claim to being angels, for all that Bullen was a monster and they were trying to protect the child,” Jed shrugged. Mary dropped her gaze to her hands, fidgeting with her wedding ring. 

“Byron has the acuity of an earthworm, but he’s always been fond of you in his own oafish way. It must be Eliza you are suffering over,” Jed said, uttering his former wife’s name with a careful carelessness. He and Mary had had a tacit understanding that they would not speak of her and for Mary, that had not been difficult, as she had barely known the woman when Eliza left for California; she had been an obstacle, a principle, and then a signature on an official document. It was only with the unexpected reunion in Alexandria that she had become someone whose name left a bitter taste in Mary’s mouth.

“I saw her with their little girl, tending her after the she’d had a seizure. Watching her, listening to Eliza explain what had happened, I pitied her,” Mary said. The child had been so frail, a far cry from her own bright-eyed boys, even small Johnny whose plump cheeks and legs she could never resist from nuzzling. “But it wasn’t only pity I felt.”

“No?”

“I felt the most terrible satisfaction, Jed. I cannot say I thought about her much before we came back here, but since we arrived, she has taunted me and cast aspersions, made the most cutting remarks about our marriage, what kind of wife you deserve, the myriad ways I am lacking. The tedium of having a large family, how dull it makes a woman, and I can see now how she may have meant it as a diversion, for who’d ever suspect she was a devoted mother to hear her speak. But every word, every glance hurt and seeing her with her child, I could not help feeling superior, thinking of how for all she’d said, she hadn’t anything like what I do,” Mary said. “It was as if there was a cruel, proud voice within me urging me stamp my foot and say ‘so there.’ Perhaps it’s a blessing I’m lame.”

“Oh, Molly—" 

“I’m most dreadfully ashamed of myself, but it doesn’t stop me from still feeling that way,” Mary admitted.

“Did you show, in any way, that was how you felt? Did you utter one solitary word or even allow yourself one glance that would reveal your thoughts?” Jed asked. “I believe I already know the answer, but it won’t do unless you say it for yourself.”

“No, I don’t think I did,” Mary said.

“So, you are fretting and castigating yourself—for being a human being? I won’t brook any nonsense about how this reflects on you as a good Unitarian and you know Reverend Wells wouldn’t either,” Jed said. He reached over and took both of her hands in his, holding them lightly but with an unmistakable tenderness.

“But, I should not have felt as I did,” Mary said. She had pushed the wickedness away, while Eliza spoke and Betty was restless and unresponsive to her mother’s touch, but she had recognized it, even as she tried to be quiet and reply with such anodyne comments Eliza would not seek to turn them against her.

“Who says?” Jed asked. “I won’t abide having chapter and verse quoted at me nor a German philosopher I am ill-equipped to refute and there, you see you have had quite an effect on me, if I can claim any degree of modesty as sincere. Perhaps you may allow yourself even half the grace you’d give to anyone else.”

“I know I have faults like we all must, but I must strive to be better than I am,” Mary said. “I should only be glad to have three healthy sons and friends and family who have cared for me even more when I became ill. I should only want to go home and see those dear little faces and have a proper cup of tea in our parlor and trounce you in a nearly embarrassing game of chess because you will rely on Giuoco Piano.”

“You should. But it’s all right if you don’t. I will confess, Molly, I love you better for being imperfect, for being a woman and not a seraph. Feathers make me sneeze, you know,” Jed replied, giving her such a saucy grin she could almost forget the years, the grey at his temples, the ache in her leg, all the mayhem and catastrophe the past few days had brought them.

“That’s news to me,” Mary said. “You were quite the contented sybarite when I put the goose-down pillows on the guest room bed.”

“I’d like them better on your bed,” he said, starting to unbutton his vest, pausing when she reached over to loosen his cravat. “I’ll show you, as soon as we’re home.”

“Oh, I shall like that very much,” Mary said. She settled back among the linens and rested her cheek against her hand, watching Jed watching her, knowing that there was no way in which he found her wanting. He had said further intimacies were beyond him, but seeing herself, flawed and beloved, in his gaze was more exquisite than any embrace. She would have told him so, but she could see he knew that too.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Emily Dickinson.
> 
> This just goes to show that when someone leaves oodles of comments (Snapdragonroar!), you can inspire more fic :)
> 
> The Giuoco Piano is one of the oldest recorded openings in chess. The Portuguese Damiano played it at the beginning of the 16th century and the Italian Greco played it at the beginning of the 17th century. The Giuoco Piano was popular through the 19th century, but modern refinements in defensive play have led most chess masters towards openings like the Ruy Lopez that offer White greater chances for long-term initiative.


End file.
